


Le Sucre

by nimiumcaelo



Category: Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Genre: Baking, Cake, Conversations, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Smoking, rafflesweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 13:05:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13975737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimiumcaelo/pseuds/nimiumcaelo
Summary: Set in Ham Common. It's their housekeepers birthday, and Raffles and Bunny decide to bake her a cake. An afternoon of domesticity ensues.





	Le Sucre

**Author's Note:**

> This is my only contribution to Raffles Week, but whatever. The prompt today was domesticity: _I can recall more than one cosy evening when we discussed anything and everything but our own malpractices._

“Bunny, you’ve broken it!”

“Well, if you would’ve greased the pan – gah! See, look what you’ve done, now!” Bunny set aside a bowl of icing hastily and with some agitation.

Raffles licked a glob of said icing off his elbow. “Mmm, nice work,” he commented.

Bunny scowled. “It doesn’t matter if the icing’s tasty,” he grumbled. “If the cake tastes like charcoal.”

“Simply cover the whole thing in enough sugar and nobody’ll be the wiser.”

“It already looks like a snowcloud’s been through; I doubt that would improve it much.”

Raffles stood back and appraised the creation: with half of it still ripped off in the pan, a misshapen bundt cake rested on its laurels on one of their landlady’s decorative plates, with streaks of strawberry jam leaking down from where it was placed in globs along the top. The edges of the cake were singed slightly and there was a faint smell of burnt sugar in the air.

“Maybe if you trim the burnt stuff off,” he suggested, rubbing delicately at an imagined beard.

Bunny pursed his lips. “But it’s already half gone. If we trim any more off she’ll have hardly anything to stick a candle in, let alone eat.”

“Hmm.”

“’Hmm’ indeed.”

They stared at the cake for some moments longer. The jam kept oozing along the sides and it was beginning to tilt a bit to the right. Bunny snatched up the knife.

“Perhaps if I…” he trailed off. Carefully, he pried the bits of cake that were stuck to the pan off and held them delicately in his hands. “Here, get the jam,” he instructed. “There, now, spread it on a bit thick there. Good. I think you might want more on that wobbly piece. Hm. That looks about right.”

With the aid of Raffles and the jam, Bunny had stuck the broken pieces of the cake back on. It didn’t look completely respectable, more like a half-plucked bird than anything else, but it was a definite improvement.

“Do you think she’ll like it?” asked Bunny, glancing at Raffles. The latter was frowning slightly and giving off an air similar to that of a professional critic. Bunny found himself slightly worried that the whole thing would crumble under Raffles’s gaze.

Raffles looked away from the cake and towards the concerned visage of his companion. “No idea – but I know she’ll appreciate the sentiment, at least.”

“Yes,” Bunny agreed.

They both took turns imagining their landlady faking delight at the first taste of their horrific creation. It was somewhat comforting and somewhat embarrassing to know she wouldn’t say anything if she didn’t like it.

Raffles sighed and shoved his hands under his arms. “Well, how long until it cools off?”

“About an hour, I should think,” said Bunny, checking with the recipe to be certain.

“Good. We should probably clean up, then, before it’s time to ice it. I think I’ve already gotten jam and things on me in multiple places.”

Bunny giggled. “Yes, you have.” He started gathering the soiled dishes from their places scattered around the kitchen. It was a relatively clement day outside and the windows were open, letting in a soft warmth and glow that one simply could not replicate with the electric light. Bunny found it immensely soothing to his soul. He found the quiet music hall tune that Raffles was humming quite soothing, as well.

“Here, push over,” he said, bringing his stack of dishes over to the sink. Raffles scooted away a bit. “And hand me that rag, would you?” He rolled up his sleeves.

They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, Bunny washing the dishes and Raffles drying them and setting them aside. After the current show tune was exhausted, Raffles moved on to the next, something they’d heard at a performance they’d attended the previous week. Bunny recognized it and smiled.

Raffles watched Bunny as they worked, a fond look in his eyes. “I rather like that sweater on you, Bunny, darling.”

“Oh?” Bunny looked down at the mentioned item. “Yes, I thought you might. The woman who sold it to me said it complemented my coloration, or something like that.”

Raffles chuckled. “I think it matches it more often than not,” he teased. The sweater was a rosy pastel pinkish color, one that Bunny’s cheeks tended to favor when he was in the grip of some passionate emotion. They tended to it now, as Bunny recognized the punchline of Raffles’s jibe.

“Hush, you,” he said, flicking soapy water at Raffles.

“Oh, but, Bunny, you look so pretty when you blush!” Raffles grinned.

Bunny attempted to scowl, though the action lost most of its force since he was still smiling. “I don’t look pretty, I look embarrassed.”

“The two are not mutually exclusive, my dear rabbit,” Raffles noted as he set aside the final dish. Bunny wiped the counters off as well as he could then hung the rag up on the edge of the sink, brushing his hands off on his trouser legs. He noticed Raffles inspecting the smudges that had accumulated on his shirt during the afternoon.

“Here, let me get those,” Bunny said, retrieving the rag again. Raffles leaned against the counter and let Bunny dab at his shirtfront, gazing softly at him all the while.

“I should probably change this,” Raffles commented when Bunny had finished. “Not that you didn’t do an admirable job, Bunny, but this seems to be the sort of thing that requires more force than is necessarily capable of being produced by a dish cloth.”

Bunny inspected the shirt once more. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I should probably change, as well – don’t want to frighten our poor landlady into thinking we’ve been stabbed.”

Raffles chuckled. “No, that wouldn’t do at all.”

They retired to their respective rooms to change. Afterwards, and following a comforting round of cigarettes, it was time to ice the cake. Raffles did the honors.

“Careful not to mess up the jam,” Bunny reminded him, idly watching Raffles at work. He himself was seated at the table, scratching up a little something by way of a card.

Raffles was complete concentration. “I won’t, Bunny, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worrying, I’m just reminding you.”

Raffles dislodged one of the broken pieces accidentally and scowled, irritated. “Damn.”

“What?”

“Nothing, I’ve just broken it again.”

Bunny glanced over. “Oh, don’t worry. We can always glue it back on at the end.”

“Yes, but I’ve messed up my pattern. I was doing little swirls all over it.”

“Really?” Bunny craned his neck to see. “Oh, yes. Very nice, AJ.”

Raffles accepted the plume with a softening of the scowl. “Thank you. Too bad it’s been ruined.”

“I’m sure it’ll turn out fine, in the end.”

The pattern, in fact, did not survive until the end, unfortunately; though, the cake was suitably complete to pass muster. Bunny had assisted in sticking the more wobbly bits back on with globs of icing. The card turned out well, also, and both men signed their names – Harry and Ralph Manders – beneath a heartfelt message penned by the former “brother.” Everything was complete and all that was left to do was wait about fifteen minutes until it was reasonable to assume their landlady would be back from her bit of gardening.

Raffles and Bunny sat beside each other on their ottoman and passed the time idly, enjoying the fading sunlight and their own companionship.

“I think we did rather well, considering everything,” commented Raffles approvingly. “Your recipe turned out marvelously.”

Bunny smiled. “Well, it needs a bit of practice, but I think it’s passable, for now.”

“Passable,” repeated Raffles in dry amusement. “You are much more than passable, Bunny.”

“Well, yes,” fumbled Bunny sheepishly, turning slightly pink. “But I am not my recipes. Or, at least, I should hope not.”

Raffles smiled lazily. “No,” he drawled. “If you were, this cake wouldn’t have been in so many pieces.”

Bunny laughed.

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first fic in the Raffles fandom! Also, sorry it was posted so late ack !  
> I'm a sucker for cake and fluff so why not combine the two, you know?  
> Happy Raffles Week and thanks for reading!!  
> (also happy pi day woo 3/14 )
> 
> \- M


End file.
